The Prize
by Shadowfang3000
Summary: "Fate loves to tease its victims." - After months of conflict with Kha'zix, Rengar reflects on his desire to hunt down the Void Reaver. During this, he discovers just how deep their relationship truly goes - a depth he is eventually made to display.


(A/N): Well, here's to returning to old ideas! xD

Quite a while ago, I began writing a fic concerning the great hunt between the Pridestalker and the Void Reaver. This fic never really made much progress, but I certainly liked the basic concept of it!

Now, around 6 months later – if not more – I find myself in a strange mood to return to the scuffle between the two. Even if Rengar is extremely tedious and unfair to lane against, that doesn't mean that I don't like him as a character. The same could be said about Kha'zix in a way!

This fic isn't a romance one! God forbid, I may have written the uncouth rape of a squirrel by a large one-armed Austrian man once but I doubt I'll go as far as to write a gay love story between a puddy cat and a praying mantis! This is something a bit more – an in-depth glance at the complex relationship between two great rivals.

… That's what I'm going for at least. It might be complete rubbish! Keep your hats on folks :P

WARNING: Spelling errors, some bad language, butchery of canon, a bit of gore, and general rambling as per usual!

**The Prize**

Perhaps the most intriguing thing about the beast he sought wasn't what it left behind, but rather what it took with it. Flesh and bone, blood and cloth – all gone, the only remnants being the bitter stench of gore and forever silenced screams.

_A scent a hunter and stalker of the greatest prides surely knew well._

Rest assured, as gory as it was it was a remarkable sight to see. The beast of the void; scythes for arms, daggers for teeth, brass for body – only a creature of _its_ skill, cunning and power could create such works of art in the rainbow of invisible hues only fellow predators could respect.

His singular eye glimmering fiercely, the hunter rose from his crouched position. The tip of his serrated blade remained entirely still as he scanned the horizon, watching his domain for the intruder's tracks. Nestled in the forest canopy within the myriad of branches, the monster could see him as clearly as the glowing moon in the night sky; that alone was easy to tell. The Pridestalker growled to himself lowly, a dark and scheming purr mimicking the snicker of a drunken card player collecting his triple digit earnings.

The beast made no retort, the rustling of tree leaves in the eternal expanse of the woods indicating the retreat of a fleet of prey. It had fled the scene no doubt, fresh meat filling its gullet and fuelling its powerful movements. Their shared battlefield would see no more blood today, but _soon._

_Soon, it would be time. _

The hunter hesitantly sheathed his weapon, his grimy and unkempt claws lingering on its hilt as if longing to remain firm; staunch against the inevitable. If he could've spoken to his blood-hungry hand, he would've reassured it time and time again: Soon, _soon._

With deliberate lethargy he returned to his den, not even a single catch for the day's work slung over his shoulder. To be perfectly honest, he hadn't made a successful catch since that fateful spring's morning where he discovered his greatest challenge; cloudy, a small chance of rain. He knew from the moment that they drew eachother's claret; when that foul creature tore his eye with _extreme _prejudice from its homely socket that he'd found perfection.

_And no matter what the cost._

_He would have it._

Rengar the Pridestalker would bring "pride" to him namesake. He had hungered for an opponent of worth for far too many years to count, and now that it had presented itself to him he simply couldn't help it. The _thrill_; the _drive_; the _need_ for the deciding day grew ever so stronger and virulent with each passing moment, like the undying lust of a love-suckered boy.

_Soon, soon._

With the creak of mistreated wood he took a seat in his forlorn cabin, the stuffed corpses and mantled skulls of many a kill staring upon him from his wickered walls like an audience at the theatre. They were _begging_ him for his next act, and that next act would produce the head of his latest desire – dripping to a rhythm with fresh beads of blood

The greatest feat of his lifetime would see the end of that creature, and he would certainly honour the memory of his greatest challenge. He would gladly destroy all of his trophies and prizes of hunts past to make room for something as deserving as the beast from the Void. Rengar scowled, caressing the sharp edge of his blade with the tip of his finger.

There was of course the possibility of _defeat_.

He had bested many predators in his travels, but if time had taught him anything it was that the monster was superior to them _all_. Never before had he witnessed such adaptation and haste in a creature – it had bested even _his _efforts on several occasions. Within mere months the monstrosity had practically declared the entire woodland as its own territory.

_But death meant nothing to him._

If he were to die against the might of the creature alien to him, then so be it. He would _gladly_ surrender the crown to his usurper – it would have proven itself as much more worthy than he for the awe-inspiring rank in the woodland. As the creature devoured him, he would be nothing but smiles and grins – pride and merry wishes for his successor in the hunt.

_And so the hunt goes on._

_That was simply the cycle of things._

A splash of ale, a slab of meat; he stared at the dwindling embers of his hearthfire as the fleet of crickets began their whispering. There was no enjoyment in his lone burning iris as he scoffed his lot, the beast no doubt feasting on his own kill at that very moment. What amounted to a fragment of pity sometimes rose in his stomach when he imagined the fear of the prides that once filled these lands in their hundreds. Few dared to be seen day in and out through winters passed, fearing a hasty demise at the hands – or claws – of the contending hunters.

But then again, they were simply _weak._

Rengar tore off a large chunk of his venison with his razor-edged teeth, slicing through the thick meat and hide as if it were damp paper in a hurricane. The deer had been audacious enough as to roam in his territory, turning stones with tenacious prods of its hooves and taking measured sips from the fresh stream that flanked his den. Such foolish and arrogant creatures existed purely to fuel the might of _true_ warriors; to serve beings such as he and the void monster - that was their singular purpose.

With fingers caked in gore and red, Rengar weighed the venison in his palms. Most of it had been stripped to the bone, the now sickening white length halved in weight. Examining the remains further, he gnawed longingly for what sustenance remained - it was reasonable, he'd been out all day.

_As had his competition._

His meal finally finished, he lobbed the firm bone into the hearth with pin-point accuracy and let his arms slacken in fatigue. The Void Reaver had certainly earned his kill today; he'd earnt a life-time of suppers and then some. The bone span to a halt in the embrace of dying flames, its chalk white melting away into a dark and charred brown.

Flake after flake it wasted away, the air he'd become acquainted with losing to the stench of death. He exhaled in disgust, clenching his fist - why did _every_ smell remind him of his prey? Why did everything he sensed have to lead to his latest obsession? Gore, bloodshed, the eternal silence of a never-ending stand-off.

_For reasons beyond him, that was all he wanted._

The hunter hadn't slept for days. How could he sleep, knowing that lurking in the woods was the most evolved, daring and powerful creature he had ever had the luxury to encounter? How could he sleep with the excitement pumping through his veins that soon, _soon, _they'd at _last_ clash as the sun and the moon observed?

He couldn't, and it was as simple as that. Such a magnificent creature was sharpening its claws, and he'd be _ready_ to receive him. To sleep in such a tense situation would be a fool's escape - and a fool's _final_ mistake.

So he stared at the fire.

Wasn't much else to do as he waited.

_Fate loves to tease its victims._

_Eternal Purgatory._

Flickering flames often kept him awake during long hunts of days past. Dancing, tantalising, energetic yet calm. Fire seemed to be a _sea_ of contradictions, yet Rengar was no philosopher. It served its purpose for him; to cook, to heat, to fuel. He sat unblinking, his elbows clicking, his furious eye stern in determination.

He hoped the beast had enjoyed their scuffle as much as he did. Nothing was more intoxicating than the drawing of blood, pools of crimson staining the featureless greenlands. They had tasted eachother's gore - clawed, scratched, stabbed, bitten, chewed, slammed.

_And from that day on, they had become inseparable._

_A rivalry, quite literally, cemented in the shedding of eachother's red._

The fire cackled, and his thoughts lingered; a normal night in recent months. The band of vocal crickets had ceased their incessant mumbles, packing their gear and fleeing to their nests. It was a strange sensation to hear one's own heartbeat - it always made one feel vulnerable, and _mortal_. To think that _one_ stray strike on the breast of a man could destroy them.

_It made his chest thump ever the more furiously._

Rengar didn't even notice his fluttering eyelids, the blackened and bagged flesh slipping downwards to shield his irises from the piercing light ahead. He mumbled feebly, his nose trembling in protest as his body fell limp. Such a _weak_, _feeble_ body; he'd deserved one of _greater_ might, _eternal_ endurance, and _unwavering_ temperament.

In some ways, it was as if what he sought was what he deserved. Only in his most lucid, thrilling dreams would he be able to spend but a _moment_ in the body of the void monster. What paradise would he find in total freedom, traversing the forests and devouring all opposition?

_What worth did he have?_

The flames had fallen silent some time ago, giving way to a bubble of silence that enveloped the entirety of the hunter's den. As forlorn as it was, he paid no heed - his body had surrendered to the teasing allure of sleep, and snarls of reluctance had evolved into snores of serenity. His brawny chest rose and fell to a quarter of the beat of the huntsman's drum, the Pridestalker almost seeming as if he was at total ease to an uninformed observer.

It certainly surprised him when he was thrown awake from a slumber he hadn't expected, his eyes and ears haywire in their senses. It took him a moment of enduring an irritating ring in his cranium that he deduced the sound that had caused his discomfort.

A loud, skin-blistering, bone-chilling thump.

_Someone had fallen._

_Something had fallen._

Birds scattered en masse, retreating for the trees with newfound haste. The flattering of feathers and outstretched wings deafened the hunter, who listened without falter for additional information. Through the screen of frantic carrion was nothing - no battle, no feast, no war. Whatever had happened by the doorsteps of his den, it most certainly did not involve the talent of his rival.

_So why was he so anxious?_

With a palm on his blade; a claw at his side, he rose from his seat with a low creak in his stiff-capped knees. Even if it was nothing at all, there was no harm in staying on your toes - the monster could be stalking the treeline at this very moment for all he knew, watching and waiting for him to let his guard down for but a fraction of a moment. If he was in the Void Reaver's heels, _now _would be the prime moment to strike.

_Finish it in one swift, clean strike._

He made for the door, constant vigilance on the expansive horizon. Twisting the handle and nudging it open with a ram of his shoulder, Rengar pointed his blade ahead to ward off the more daring fools that plagued his realm. His eye followed the glimmering tip of his weapon, scanning the horizon for threats - textbook procedure for hunters such as he.

There was nothing amongst the trees, nor was there a bounty in clear sight. It was strange, yet for some reason the sensation of fear and paranoia had diminished. _Surely_ the monster was there, its eyes peeled for his prey's mistakes?

_Soon, soon._

Rengar glared upwards and pierced through the thick canopy to spot the golden fury of the morning sun. It was already dawn - just how long had he been engaged in thought and monologue? Had he really wasted so many hours alone, dreaming of the paradise he sought?

Hesitantly he paced forward, a low growl ringing his teeth. An animalistic snarl often deterred lesser creatures from straying near, and by the gods he didn't want _any_ interruptions from lowly animals with no concept of glory. He breached through the brush; he was in the monster's territory now.

A thick, never-ending expanse of trees with not a singular flatland in sight for miles. The beast loved to skip through the oaks and yews, the elegance in its skilled movements only beaten by the dread it provoked in the hearts of men. If he were a shadow in the trees, then the monster was a beam of light - the fastest, strongest, smartest entity that one may ever encounter.

Rengar clawed through a stubborn thicket, sticking to the darkness as a protective shroud. His eye was still plagued by the crust of an early morning, yet he could swear that he had spotted something. Across the grass in a painful heap lay a creature, neither twitching nor evidently breathing from such a distance. The hunter scowled, his grasp tightening on the hilt of his weapon. Without a second thought, he emerged from his cover.

_He was so excited._

His eyes were fixed on the slumped form of the creature, his posture straight as he lurked ever so closer. The haze of vision adjusting to the shadow of the undergrowth gradually lessened, the figure becoming larger and larger with every inquisitive step. He had been almost certain before, but now it was confirmed for sure.

_It was the Void Reaver._

The marvelous beast lay on its front, its claws sprawled out in a thin pool of alien blood as if to catch itself from a terrifying fall. Rengar froze at a distance, taking a knee and feeling the dampness of the dew. Part of him thought that it would be a shameful trap employed by his counterpart, hoping to catch him off guard in the most _dishonourable_ way imaginable.

_Yet another part of him knew the Reaver would never do such a thing._

With caution evident in his predatorial slouch, he crawled closer and closer to the unconscious creature. Soon, _soon, _he closed the gap; once more he was mere inches from his prize. He could practically smell its intoxicating scent - the smell of the hunt; the smell of blood - Its lovely, sensual _stench_.

A hesitant palm found itself stretching outward, hovering over the muscular exoskeleton of the void creature and feeling at its wound. It was almost childish, yet a part of him just wanted to _feel _the monster's body again - a reminder of the day where they'd first encountered one another.

He resisted - barely - and began to decipher what had happened. Glaring upwards to the array of branches, he spotted a loose splint dangling by a thread to its tree trunk. No doubt it had snapped during the creature's hunts, sending him crashing to the floor in a rugged heap. Rengar had set numerous traps across the treeline before his hasty retreat months before, having hoped to use themto catch the more cocky hunts off guard.

_Yet they had all been disarmed._

_The work of the beast, no doubt._

_Clever creature._

Suddenly the Reaver let off a low, painful snarl. Rengar jumped for his weapon within an instant, placing it against the throat of the stirring creature without a moment's thought. It remained in its trance, its beady eyes firmly closed. The hunter scoffed irritably, yet remained in his domineering position.

A sickening thought came to mind.

_He could end it right here, right now._

Mere inches away sat his prize, _entirely_ at his mercy. A slow, brutal slit across its throat was all it would take for the hunt to end. At last he'd have his reward for innumerable days of waiting - the head of his greatest challenge, _his_ for the taking at long last. The Reaver had made its own mistake, and the price it would pay for such a failure was death.

Yet where was the honour in that? How could he kill the defenceless creature right there, in such _cowardly_ circumstances? Rengar began to pull the blade away, the slick point caressing the monster's neck gently.

Where was the glorious chase, the thrilling hunt, the honourable battle that he had _dreamed_ for?

_Soon, soon._

He let his knife drop to the floor with a dull thump, the blade bathing in the damp mildew of the rising sun. He would not let the Reaver die here - not under such unjust circumstances. With a scowl akin to _embarrassment_, Rengar found himself doing something he thought he'd never have to do - he pulled the monster over, sitting it up against a thick yew trunk and lowering its head to rest against the cool, welcoming wood.

_And then he tended to the creature's wounds._

The Pridestalker had little experience in the field of medicine, what with his expertise being in the removal of organs for _trophies _rather than medical practice. However, that didn't mean he lacked a _basic_ grasp of herblore. His mentor had tutored him greatly in the foliage that covered the forest - what could be eaten, what could be used as poison, what could _ease _pain.

_Trunkroot - the Hunter's Remedy_

Trunkroot was an elusive pain-killer, but it was _certainly_ one of the more potent. Rengar ran his hand across the yew tree's base, tugging at strands of grass and towering mushrooms in hunt of what he sought. The search would've been far more simple if he didn't find himself stealing glances at the unconscious predator by his side.

_Out of fear, or out of awe - he just couldn't tell._

He scoffed in irritation as he dug deeper, his rotten claws rapidly becoming coated in a thick layer of mud and dirt. Trunkroot also happened to be a rather popular food-stuff for the animals that lurked in the woodland; they often came from miles around simply to try and steal a few chunks of the herb. Creatures were willing to risk certain _death _simply to get their mitts on the rare form of vegetation - it was _that _valuable.

At long last Rengar managed to yank some stubborn root free, the thin strands of the herb dangling from between his large digits. He spared a glance at the Reaver once more - he was grimacing, the crisp morning air bringing irritation to his fresh chest wound. The Pridestalker hastily clenched the root in his fist, coating his palm in a sticky, thick layer of dull greens.

Gently he placed his hand against the wound, massaging the creature's chest and shielding the opening with the herbal remedy. The beast hissed from the sudden stinging sensation on its bloodied torso, yet Rengar persevered. _It _would persevere; he knew it would.

He slowed his rubs, the jagged edges of his claws running against the bony exterior of the monster's torso. To think that his greatest challenge; like he; was such a _frail, _vulnerable being. His palm came to halt, hovering over the monster's wound. His hand was thick with hues of red and black, as was the injury of the Void Reaver. No doubt the damage was sealing - Trunkroot acted as a bandage, protecting damaged areas and soothing the senses.

_It would live._

The Pridestalker should have left the monster to its own devices, yet something kept him from rising to his feet. Instead he stubbornly remained knelt by the beast's side, his singular eye ever watchful as it sat in its slumber. It was still vulnerable in this state, and he wouldn't let a cheeky scavenger hunting for a quick meal anywhere _near _his rival. The Reaver _needed_ his protection for now - _soon, soon._

_That's what he told himself at least._

The Trunkroot's effect was potent, and the creature began to stir from its rest. Its bones flinched in erratic rhythms, the vicious talons of its feet wiggling in confusion. Rengar remained in place, his gaze fixed on the beast as its eyes at last peeled open.

The Reaver's eyes darted left and right, establishing the situation it had awoken in. From tree, to bush, to plant they went until at long last they met the burning fury of the Pridestalker. The beast froze.

Their eyes locked in stand-off, yet not a single motion of aggression was made. It blinked profusely, its curious antennae dancing as if hunting for signs of the hunter's intentions. It was at its rival's mercy, and it knew this for certain.

_Yet he did nothing._

With shaky legs the creature of the void pushed itself to a stand, never letting its stare falter - like a paranoid deer in the presence of a starving man. Rengar mimicked the action, rising from his crouch and letting his dirtied hands dangle by his waist. His weapon remained on the floor - but he knew he wouldn't need it.

There was a code to the hunt that they would abide to; their battles would be fair on the battleground, and not ruled by advantages in health or equipment. He wouldn't draw the blood of his foe in such a state, and in his heart he _knew _that the Void Reaver thought the same. After all, where was the _fun_ in conquering the _weak_?

Rengar raised his chin proudly, amazed by the sheer height of the beast when it stood straight. Eventually, the air thick with tension, he nodded approvingly. Almost obediently the predator bowed its head, and with no sense of haste turned to pace away - confident in the knowledge that there would be no harshness between them today.

The Pridestalker simply stared on as his rival departed. He watched as it became a featureless blip in the trees; observed until it became a dot in the foliage; gazed until at long last he could no longer see it. He picked his blade from the dewy grass, slipping it away in its welcome sheath.

Then, and _only_ then, did he depart for home.

Through his crooked door he returned to his chair, a sharpening stone in one claw and a company of weaponry by his feet. Soon, _soon, _their time would come. At long last the Pridestalker and the Void Reaver could enjoy theirselves in their final hour. Life or death; it didn't matter - both would be victorious in one way or another.

Slipping a polished and gleaming dagger away, Rengar glanced at his palm. Green, black, red; stained in Trunkroot and gore from his rival's wound. His fingers strayed across the claret of magnificence - the fuel of the greatest hunter he'd had the luxury to encounter.

_One day, he'd have all the bloodshed he desired._

_He was thrilled, he couldn't wait; nor could his rival no doubt._

_And so the hunt goes on._

X

(A/N): Uhhh... Not so sure about this one :S

Decent concept, but once more I feel like I executed it badly. Still, a fic's a fic eh? :P

Besides, I've been writing essay after essay and revising textbook after textbook for the past few weeks! Give me a break! D:


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